Helen was wishing it was all out in the open
Helen was wishing it was all out in the open. Then she wouldn’t have to pretend.
It was ridiculous she had thought to herself for the hundredth time earlier that afternoon. And now, looking with approval at her sleek outline in the mirror, she knew it really was time she put an end to this nonsensical charade.
Easier said than done, of course, but there comes a time in every woman’s life when she needs to…
Helen thought for a moment.
To do what exactly?
“…to carpe some diem,” she said to the reflection looking pensively back at her.
“Throw caution to the winds, have the courage to take life by the scruff of the neck and give it a good shaking…”
After all, when you were in your fifties, you couldn’t be sure how many diems there would be left to carpe…
She flipped at her honey-coloured bob with a practised hand and was pleased to see her neat helmet of hair fall with an elegant swish just below the line of her still-firm chin.
There were women who overdid the bling and the botox in an effort to hold back the years.
But mutton dressed like lamb was still mutton.
Besides Helen had never wanted to stand out in the crowd. Her taste had always been more Jaegar and Jean Muir than what she called ‘fuss and feathers’.
Clever tailoring and muted colours were a middle-aged woman’s best friends, and offset with perfectly-judged jewellery, a vibrant silk scarf and a pair of killer heels, Helen’s understated style made the most of her slim waist, and long legs.
Not that she hadn’t had her moments, Helen chuckled to herself.
The scarlet dress she had bought to celebrate her 50th birthday five years ago had been an unusually daring buy.
It had taken all her courage to wear it to the restaurant in Barcelona where she was celebrating her half-century with a group of special friends, and right up to the last minute she had wrestled with herself, wondering if the low-cut top displayed too much cleavage, or if the floaty chiffon skirt was an inch or so shorter than decorum dictated.
But the appreciative wolf whistle or two which had greeted her arrival had made Helen feel reckless and daring – even if she had never had the courage or the occasion to wear it again.
And tonight was just as special in its own way, thought Helen, even if they were celebrating their Silver Wedding anniversary at home, rather than abroad.
The caterers who had arrived three hours ago were a miracle of efficiency.
“Show me the kitchen and then leave us to get on with things,” the young blonde chef had told her, unpacking mysterious packages from the back of her van, and loading them into the hired-in fridge.
“We’ll serve the champagne and canapés at seven – so until then, relax, run a bath and ignore us.”
So Helen had done just that, lazing in scented bubbles for an hour, and sipping on a celebratory glass or two of Champagne as she mulled over her dilemma and determined that tonight would see an end to it.
The sight of herself in the long looking glass seemed to give Helen courage, and at the sound of wheels on the gravelled drive outside, she drew herself up as though bracing herself for an ordeal which would require all her composure.
She checked her watch.
Ten to seven.
Betty and her sister, who had spent the afternoon shopping and having their hair and make-up done, were back just in time to welcome the first of their guests.
So Helen – or Harold as Betty had always known her husband of 25 years - teetered carefully down the stairs, opened the door and, in a voice mingling triumph and defiance, yelled the single word: “Surprise!”
